


Clever Little Liar

by TheFeistyRogue



Series: Inception Fics [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, BAMF Arthur, Blow Jobs, Bottom Eames (Inception), Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Kinda, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Power Dynamic, Praise Kink, Top Arthur, Underage - Freeform, Underage Eames (Inception), alternative universe, up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 21:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFeistyRogue/pseuds/TheFeistyRogue
Summary: “The name’s Eames,” the boy said. “And I am legal, in case you were wondering.”“Don’t care,” Arthur replied, for the boy was obviously a liar, whether or not it was the truth.





	Clever Little Liar

**Author's Note:**

> If it's not explicitly clear from the tags, Eames is young in this fic and debatably underage. That's for you to decide. Don't like, don't read.

When Arthur needed a holiday, or even just a break, he visited London. Few people dreamed of vacationing in London like they did in Greece, or Florida, or Havana, and dreamsharers weren’t drawn to it like they were to cities like Paris and Tokyo.

But London was Arthur’s home away from home, similar enough to New York for him to feel comfortable, with the added benefit of Savile Row, great fish and chips, and milder seasons. He had a flat in Kensington that overlooked Holland Park; he’d paid an arm and a leg for it, but Arthur had no regrets. When he was there he sat on the balcony and sipped champagne and felt impossibly extravagant. It was nice to indulge, when he wasn’t working.

There was a boy labouring in the gardens; shirtless, tight jeans. He’d been repotting some kind of purple flowering bush for the last half an hour and was sweating lightly, shoulders starting to turn pink from the early evening sunshine. Arthur had been shamelessly watching, slouching in the chair on his balcony, idly wondering what it would feel like to smooth the ache of a day’s labour from the boy’s muscles. He was just on the cusp of adulthood, but he was broad enough and tall enough that Arthur didn’t feel like too much of a pervert. He looked old enough to be legal, at least in this country. 

Abruptly, the boy turned, his gaze lancing up to meet Arthur’s. He smirked like he’d caught Arthur out and ran a hand through his light brown hair. 

Arthur didn’t look away. Instead, he shook out a cigarette from the packet on the table and lit it with a flick of his lighter. He took a long drag and stood, leaning his hips on the balcony railing, arms draped across the bannister. He beckoned the boy over with a twitch of his fingers.

At first he thought the boy might back down; he hesitated long enough for Arthur to feel a flicker of disappointment in his gut. Then he approached at a trot, gardening tools abandoned. 

“Everything alright, sir?” the boy asked, a surprisingly cultured accent curling into his voice

He had blue eyes, Arthur noted, and pink lips that he wanted to see plump and slick with spit. There was about a meter and a half of air between them, but Arthur fancied he could taste the boy’s skin, salty with sweat.

“You seem to have misplaced an article of clothing,” Arthur said slowly. “Perhaps I can provide you with a shirt?”

They both looked at the garments that lay in the dirt, next to the abandoned shovel.

“Wouldn’t do for me to go walking the streets of London in such a state of dishabille, would it now?” the boy said. Those gorgeous lips quirked into a smile.

“Fancy word,” Arthur replied, “‘dishabille’.” He stubbed out his cigarette on the lip of the balcony and reached into his pocket for the key to the flat. He flicked it into the empty space between them and it rotated once before arching down to the ground, sunlight catching on the metal. The boy snatched it out of the air and grinned. 

“The name’s Eames,” the boy said. “And I  _ am _ legal, in case you were wondering.”

“Don’t care,” Arthur replied, for the boy was obviously a liar, whether or not it was the truth. “Flat 2b.”

He’d stripped off his waistcoat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt by the time Eames walked in the door. The boy whistled, glancing around at the decor.

“Place the key on the sideboard,” Arthur said. “And you can call me Arthur.” 

“Does that make me Guinevere?” Eames replied, a wide grin upon his face, as if Arthur had never heard the joke before. In three quick steps, Arthur was close enough to capture Eames’s jaw in his hand and kiss him thoroughly. Eames froze beneath his touch before opening like the petals of a flower, eager if not experienced.

“What a clever mouth you have,” Arthur murmured. “However, perhaps it’s a cliche, but I’d rather like to shut you up.” He pressed gently, but insistently, on Eames’s shoulders, digging his fingers into the muscle.

Eames moaned, his hips jerking into Arthur’s body, before dropping gracelessly to his knees. Arthur grabbed a handful of Eames’s hair, just a little too long, and tugged him forward. With his other hand he helped Eames undo his zipper and free his cock from its confines.

“My, my, Arthur, what big-” Eames began. Arthur rolled his hips forward, catching Eames’s mouth and stretching his jaw wide, stopping that ridiculous sentence in its tracks. Eames’s breathing stuttered, but Arthur didn’t press too far in, satisfied with Eames’s hot, wet mouth and quick tongue.

He set a steady pace, but Eames was soon gasping beneath him; pink cheeks, bruised lips, shaking hands. 

“Good boy,” Arthur said as he pulled Eames off, staving off his orgasm with a squeeze to the base. Eames shuddered, curling forward, one hand darting down to press against his own cock.

“Oh,” Eames said, a delightfully shocked noise. He swayed, lashes fluttering.

“So good, so beautiful,” Arthur praised, kneeling down to lick into Eames’s mouth. He ran a hand down Eames’s heaving chest and pried his hand away, taking the time to cup Eames’s cock.

He’d come, practically untouched. Eames looked up at him, eyes hazy with desire.

“Arthur,” he whispered, sounding lost. Arthur rather liked him like that.

“You were perfect,” Arthur said. Eames reached for him, hands scrabbling to jerk Arthur off, but he batted them away. “Come on, Eames, up you get.”

Arthur manhandled him into the bedroom. Some coherency seemed to come back to Eames and he shucked his pants, diving onto the duvet. 

“Get on with it, old man, keep up,” he called, sprawling his long limbs across the covers.

Arthur glared at him. “Cheeky.”

Eames grinned, the little shit.

Arthur removed his suit, taking the time to hang his garments, watching Eames from the corner of his eye all the while. Eames was shifting on the bed, following Arthur’s movements with a hungry gaze. 

“Has anyone ever fucked you?” Arthur said when he was fully naked, extracting lube and condoms from the bedside table. He hoped not.

Eames opened his mouth as if to give a smart answer, blushed bright pink, and shook his head. Arthur smiled.

“Touch yourself,” Arthur instructed and crawled onto the bed, framing himself over Eames’s body.

“Like what you see?” Eames asked after a moment's pause. His cock was just starting to fill again. Arthur fitted his mouth against Eames’s bicep and gently bit down. He repeated the process a few inches up Eames’s arm.

“I think you know I do, you filthy tease,” Arthur replied. He pinched a nipple. Eames jerked beneath him, hissing at the pain. “Half naked in the park where anyone could see — you were just waiting for someone like me to come along and fuck you.” He kissed Eames, stroked his cheekbones, traced the muscles of his chest. “So damn beautiful.”

“I — uh — it was a hot day,” Eames said breathlessly, like he needed to defend himself. Arthur chuckled and slid between Eames’s legs, moving down his body. Eames was hard again, leaking at the tip. Arthur knocked his hand away, because he’d still been touching himself, just like Arthur had told him to.

“Good boy,” Arthur murmured again, looking up to catch Eames’s heated gaze. He flicked open the cap of the lube and dribbled it liberally into the palm of this hand. He tilted Eames’ hips up, and brushed his thumb over the tight furl of Eames’ hole. 

“Fuck!” Eames growled, hips stuttering. He clutched at the sheets, then dug his fingers into his thighs.

Arthur rubbed over it, spreading the lube, just teasing at the edge. Eames was panting, jerking both into and away from the sensation. When he began to settle, Arthur pressed the tip of one finger in. Eames moaned, eyes screwed shut.

Applying ample lube, Arthur continued in that vein, pressing into Eames, teasing him gently, carefully opening him up. When he’d worked in three fingers, he curled them, searching for that one spot...

Eames arched his back, gasping. “What?” he mouthed, shaking his head side to side as if to clear it before snapping open his eyes, staring at Arthur. 

“Ever heard of a prostate?” Arthur curled his fingers again, smiling at the way Eames whined, squirming on the sheets. 

Eames’s cock, which had flagged a little at the third finger, was stiffly upright again, flushed and sticky. Arthur throbbed with sympathy and drew back to swiftly unwrap a condom, slicking himself up as he sat back onto his haunches.

“Roll over, hot stuff,” Arthur said and gently slapped Eames’s hip. Eames scrambled onto his hands and knees, head hanging as he panted. Arthur couldn’t help but fit himself over Eames, mouthing at his deltoid muscles, enjoying the way Eames strained from the exertion of holding them both up. Arthur’s cock nudged at Eames’s ass and Arthur rolled his hips.

“You’re going to look so beautiful with me fucking you, Eames, and you’re going to take it so well, aren’t you?”

Eames shivered and Arthur planted one last kiss to the nape of his neck before kneeling upright. He pressed his cock into Eames, hand wrapped around Eames’s hip.

“Push back, bear down,” he murmured, then hissed as his cock slid forward when Eames thrust back on to it, Eames’s body contracting around him exquisitely. 

“You gonna fuck me or what?” Eames slurred, glancing back over his shoulder with blown pupils and a wide grin. 

Arthur snorted, slapped him on the ass, and rolled his hips forward, sliding to the hilt with groan.

“Sassy, I like that,” he said, breathless. He withdrew almost all the way out, then repeated the motion. Eames was like a vice, hot and virgin tight. Gradually, Arthur picked up the pace, enjoying each moan and grunt from Eames, who gave a full body spasm every time Arthur caught his prostate. 

Eames eventually collapsed onto his forearms and tried to sneak a hand down to touch himself. Arthur growled and caught his wrist, twisting it behind his body, forcing Eames to arch his back and sob.

“Please, please,” Eames whined. Arthur closed his eyes, staggered by the wave of lust that rolled through him. 

“Be a good boy and come on my cock, won’t you?” he said, trying to keep his voice even, though he could feel his thrusts becoming erratic.

Eames cried out and tensed, falling into orgasm. Arthur fucked him through it and over his own edge, the both of them collapsing onto the bed in a messy, sweaty heap. Arthur made himself stagger through the process of removing the condom and wiping them up, then he pulled Eames close and curled around him.

“Anyone gonna miss you if I keep you here?” Arthur asked, blurry with sleep and pleasure.

Eames tensed for a moment before rolling closer. “Nah,” he murmured. “No one I’d miss back, at least.”

Arthur knew he’d be obsessing over that phrase come morning, but couldn’t find it within himself to care in that instant.

“Okay, Eames,” Arthur murmured. “Then stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Choo, choo, express service for hell leaving at half past the hour!


End file.
